


Our Dying World Volume One

by Wemoleitch



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Animal Death, Chaos Theory, Child Death, Death, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Epic, F/F, F/M, Gen, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description of Corpses, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Heterosexuality, Homosexuality, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by The Walking Dead, Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Pre-Zombie Apocalypse, Psychological Horror, Rape, Scary, Sex, Survival, Survival Horror, Torture, Undead, Unrequited Love, Violence, Weapons, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-20 04:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15526077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wemoleitch/pseuds/Wemoleitch
Summary: Nathaniel Warden, the author. Lauren Jones, the college student. Jacob Boothe, the washed-up family man. Riley, the homeless survivor. Zackary Bender, the Criminal. Five strangers find themselves in the beginning of a zombie apocalypse. The world falls apart all around them as the instinct to survive takes them all on an unexpected journey, destined to cross each-other's paths. This is only the beginning of their story.





	1. Nate 1

 

 

**BEFORE THE END**

 

_The year was 2021, the month was October. I don't remember the specific day, though I'm pretty sure it happened over a weekend. It was cold outside, I remember that--I remember the thunderstorms exemplified just how shitty the world was becoming.  Thunder and lightning overhead, screams down below; a chorus of chaos in tandem with each other. That's how it all started, with the screams... At least, that's how it started for me. I didn't know what was going on around me until it was already happening to everyone. When I finally caught on, I didn't know what to do or where to go. I was lost, confused, and more terrified than I'd ever been in my life. I was a different man back then..._

_I don't think anyone was ready for the end of the world except for maybe the paranoid people with bomb shelters in their backyards--but I doubt even those people would've bet on an undead apocalypse. We'd all seen the movies, but to actually believe something like this could happen was just… for a lack of a better word, stupid. Back then the idea of a zombie was best left for hollywood and video games and nerds in their mom’s basements. I grew up watching the classics, playing the games--it was almost as if the universe was preparing me in my youth, even though I had no idea, I just wanted to have fun watching a guy get his brains eaten..._

_Let me tell you something... there's nothing fun about watching that now. Nowadays the word "Zombie" strikes fear and panic in my heart. They never truly scared me back then, watching them safely from my sofa on the television. When the dead started coming back to life for real, that's when the fear became real too._

_There isn't many of us left now. The dead have taken this world from us. Even though we breathe, and we eat, and we shit... those of us living aren't truly alive anymore. We're all just waiting... waiting for our dying world to finally catch up to us, and swallow us whole._

  


**Nate**

**October 5th**

**9:00pm**

 

" _Fuck you too_ !" are his last words to Jenny before he slams his thumb down on the little, red button and ends their call.  In his blind anger, Nate is too late in hitting the breaks and rolls his car over the stone barrier ahead. He bounces, hits his head on the back of his seat, and grunts from the force of his chest colliding with the steering wheel. "Shit..." He grumbles, blinking the stars out of his eyes. He mechanically climbs out of his 1987 camry into the blistering, Washington wind and sure enough, his passenger-side wheel is stuck over the barricade while the driver's side threatens to collapse over it as well, balancing wobbly on the hedge of stone. The cars on either side of his are parked so perfectly that they highlight just how catastrophic his landing was. _This is going to cost me big. I'll be lucky to drive home tonight._ Nathan grumbles under his breath as he climbs back inside and tries to back out--but the wheels refuse to budge and the engine starts to squeal and hiss like a dying dog. Nate gives up, and sits there for a while stewing in his rage.

Feeling like steam was leaking out his ears, Nathaniel Warden abandons his car and crosses the parking lot to his destination; _Marl's Grill and Tavern_ . It’s a local dive bar that Nate frequents every weekend, and tonight would be no different. _I'm not going to worry about my car. Fuck that shitty little tin-can anyway. Jen won't like it, but fuck her too. Tonight is my night, and I'm going to enjoy it._ There's a crowd of people standing outside the bar smoking and laughing loudly about something they're showing each-other on their phones. Nate ignores them as he walks by, though as he does, he distinctly hears one of them say, "He's acting like a zombie, what a fucking loser."

For a split second, Nate thinks they're talking about him, after-all he did just crash his car, but when he glances back, they're still huddled around their phones watching a video on youtube.

By the time Nate's inside, he's forgotten about them, his car, and his fight with Jenny; he's fixated, as he always is whenever he enters this bar, by the lovely Kendra behind the counter where a glorious mountain of bottles engulf her from behind. She's fixing one of her patron's a drink while Chef Hanz yells at her from the kitchens to hurry up. Above her the TV is playing a wrestling match between two stacked, bald men in spandex. Some disheveled-looking fellas at the counter watch the fight with beers in hand, roaring and pounding their fists on the wood. A flock of college-aged girls with heavy make-up and revealing outfits are silently hunched over their cellphones in a dark corner, judgmentally eyeing Nathan as he crosses the threshold of Marl's to join the angry men watching the fight. When Kendra notices him approaching, her smile lights up the room.

Nathan can't help but smile back, grinning from ear-to-ear like a kid again. She was simply stunning, her flowing blond hair, her bright, blue eyes, and the swell of her cleavage--all of it left Nathan feeling hornier than he's felt for Jenny in a long time. Nate saddles up at the counter and leans over it with his most charming grin to say, “Hey beautiful, gimme that thing you make that I love so much.”

Kendra’s eyes dart from him to the shelf below her as her smile thins out into a cute little smirk before she says, “I will if you can remember the name of it. I tell you every time, you should know by now.”

“ _Honey_ ,” Nate says, “If I could remember the name, I would, but these precious moments with you are the last sober moments I’ll have before fading away for the rest of the night in a drunken bliss. Can you really expect me to remember the name of a drink when I’m looking into those eyes of yours?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to serve you something else, now won’t I?” Kendra teases, cocking a hand on her waist and tilting her head a little, letting her gorgeous blond locks cascade down her shoulder. _Why can’t Jen ever smile at me like that?_

“Fine, fine.” Nate sighs, “Truth be told I shouldn’t get too wasted tonight.”

“Why’s that, sugar?” Kendra asks as she cleans a mug with a clean towel, occasionally glancing around at the other patrons along the counter.

 _Maybe I shouldn’t tell her I crashed the car outside and have to call a tow. It’s embarrassing and right now I just want to forget about it. Forget about everything._ “No reason, just that I’m getting a little older every day and I don’t want my health failing on me in a moment of crisis.”

“You’re still far from worrying about that,” Kendra laughs, “You hardly look a day older than my baby brother.”

“How old’s your baby brother?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Well you flatter me, Kendra. I’m twenty-nine.”

Kendra’s smooth lips form an O of surprise as she bats her eyes and looks him up and down as if to suddenly see him there for the first time. “No... _Twenty-nine_? A grandpa like you should be home resting with the missus then, huh? How is Jen doing these days?”

A sting of uncomfortable panic settles through him before he responds. “Jen’s doing good… she’s doing good… though the two of us aren’t… well…” He glares down at his hands before saying, “Tell you what, pour me a shot of whiskey and keep them coming--I’ll tell you all about my marital problems.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Kendra turns around (allowing Nate to examine the swell of her ass) and reaches for a big bottle behind her full of bronze glory. She begins to pour a small portion into a three inch glass before sliding it up to him, leaning onto the counter as well so her face is a breath away from his. He can smell the perfume in her hair over the musk of his drink. “So what’s troubling you two?”

 _What’s got her so curious in my affairs anyway? Is she hoping for something wrong? Maybe tonight’s my night after-all._ Nate’s mind wanders as he swallows his shot. The whiskey slides down his throat like hot lava, electrifying his nerves and bringing tears to his eyes. “Well… where do I even begin? You know Jen.”

“Known her since we went to Westwood High. Lost touch with her after that.”

“Then you know how high the pedestal she sits on is.” Nate says, wagging his finger to indicate that he’d like another shot, which Kendra obliges with grace. “I’ve been working on this book for months and my editor, Dan Crusback, told me today it was no good. According to good ol’ Dan, there’s no market for the kind of angsty fiction I write. I try and explain that it’s aimed toward a younger audience but I suppose that’s not good enough.” Nate swallows his second shot, wags his finger, and receives a third. “So me and Dan have a bit of a row and next thing you know the guy tells me he’s through with me and that’s that. I don’t have an editor anymore. All my hard work just sitting there on pages that I don’t have time to read over myself. A writer can’t edit his own work, that’s like--that’s like blasphemy, y’know? So I go for a drive like I always do when I need to think and I guess I was gone longer than I should have because Jen starts calling me and calling me, over and over.” Nate drinks, wags, receives. “When I finally answer she starts going off on me, saying Dan talked to her and claims _I_ was the one who fired _him_ and he’s wanting severance for his work on my last unpublished novel as well as this current one.”

“What?!” Kendra exclaims, leaning back from the counter with a look of shock and fury.

“ _I know, right_ ?” Nate laughs numbly, swinging down his fourth… or is it his fifth drink? _Who’s counting?_ “So I tell her Dan’s full of shit and he can shove his severance up his poop chute... But of course, Jen doesn’t believe a thing I’m saying--going on and on about how I need to control my temper--like I’m the problem. So I show her what losing my temper really looks like. We get in a big, stupid fight and… well, I hung up on her before I got here. Let me get another shot.”

“Screw shots.” Kendra says, putting the bottle away. “You deserve a drink of that thing you love but you can’t remember the name of. Gimme a sec, hun.” and she briefly closes her hand over his before walking away. Even after she’s gone, Nate can still feel her touch on his skin and goosebumps slither up his forearm. _Oh man… she’s so into me right now. Is this going to happen? I mean, yeah, it’s got to right? She was looking at me like I was the only man in the bar just now. Either I’m better at telling stories than I thought, or she wants to jump my dirty old bones. Better play my cards right._

By the time Kendra returns, Nate is feeling pleasantly tipsy and warm in the cheeks. He grins as she hands him a tall glass full of blue, glistening liquor. A bendy straw protrudes from the cap with a little red and white umbrella bobbing along the surface. “That’s my girl.” Nate grins, “What’s the name of this again? I swear I’ll remember it this time.”

“How about you just call it _Kendra’s Kiss_ .” She winks as she says it, and Nate’s cheeks burn even hotter. _Oh it’s definitely happening._

Nate is about to respond with what he thinks is a smooth pick-up line when something hard shoves him on his left and he nearly spills the bright, blue drink all over himself. “What the--!” He shouts, turning to face the disturbance. There’s a man sitting next him all of the sudden--a sullen looking man in a black suit and fancy green tie. His hair is disheveled with gel and there’s dark circles around his eyes as if he’s been awake for far too long. The man snaps his fingers at Kendra, ignoring Nate entirely, and grumbles out something indiscernible. Kendra appears taken aback, unsure of what to do. Whoever this man is, he’s clearly drunk already. He reeks of booze and filth, a stark contrast to the thousand dollar business suit he wears. He gawks up at Kendra, lips parted, then says, “Didja hear me, girl? Bourbon. The bottle. Now.”

“Sir, we don’t serve whole bottles here... And you’re clearly wasted enough already.” Kendra’s voice isn’t the sing-song, lovely shade it was when she was speaking with Nate a few seconds ago. _No, now she sounds scared. Who the hell is this guy? What’s he think he’s doing--cock-blocking me like this?_

The man pulls out a wallet with his right hand, keeping his left hand hanging limply down at his side, and flashes her a hundred dollar bill. “ _The bottle_.” He repeats with a slur, a trail of saliva dripping from his lips, sweat pouring down his forehead. Nate notices small spots of blood along the cuff of his sleeve...

“Sir…” Kendra mutters, not even noticing the money. She’s backing away from the counter slowly. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Just gimme the damn bottle, lady!” The man thunders, pounding his left hand on the counter. His fist is drenched and slick with crimson. _He’s bleeding._

“Hey, man. You should go to a hospital for that.” Nate says sharply, feeling his chest tighten. Perhaps it was the alcohol he’d already ingested, but something like courage was rising in his chest and making him feel like he could easily throw this guy out if it came to it. _Might make me feel better to rough him up too. Just give me an excuse._

But out of nowhere the guy starts to cry. Tears the size of golf balls rain down his cheeks as he begs once more, “Please j-just give me the fucking bottle! I’ll give you all that I have.”

“Sir, you’re bleeding. I’m going to call the hospital and have someone take you there.” Kendra says, hastily pulling out her phone.

“NO! No… don’t…” The man sniffs and wipes his eyes, leaving a smear of blood across his nose. “It won’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. None of you… none of you get it… but you will.” He climbs off the bar stool and stumbles off. Everyone in the bar watches him go. Not a word is spoken until the door chimes and he disappears into the cold night...

Even though he’s gone, the stranger’s presence is still felt. Nate looks at Kendra and she’s visibly distraught, shaking as she speaks with an officer on her phone about what just happened. Nathan drinks his Kendra’s Kiss in solemn silence, wondering what the hell was wrong with that guy. Something about what he said at the end there made him feel sick. When Kendra is done on the phone, she tells Chef Hanz she’s going out for a smoke break to calm down. Nate follows her outside and joins her near the alley where the dumpsters are. The wail of sirens seem to go on and on forever in the distance somewhere… She lights a cigarette and he lights one of his own.

“You gonna be ok to work the rest of your shift?” Nate asks her.

“Yeah.” Kendra nods, “It’s just… we get a few crazies from time to time in here… drunk men looking for more than they can handle. Tough men who think they can boss a girl around… but I’ve never had one like that before. Did you see how much blood was coming out of his hand? I’ve never…”

“Yeah… that was…” Nate struggles to find the right words and instead takes a puff of his Camel.

“Hanz can clean that blood off the counter--no way in hell I am. Last thing I need is AIDS or some bullshit.”

“I don’t blame you there.” Nate smirks, “You sure you’re alright? Want me to drive you home?” The words come out before he can stop them, and he mentally kicks himself. _You can’t drive her home, genius. You’re car is totaled._

To his relief she just smiles at him and shakes her head. “No, I’ll be alright... My boyfriend will pick me up at three.”

There it was. _She has a boyfriend…_ Nate glares down at the ground and smokes his smoke, falling into a fit of dour silence again. _She has a boyfriend… and I have a wife. What was I thinking, anyway? I’m not some stud coming in off the street to sweep this damsel off her feet. I’m just an angry, old loser who can’t get anything published or get his wife to smile at him anymore. I must be delusional for thinking otherwise..._

They finish their cigarettes and head back in. Nate keeps a healthy distance from Kendra this time and orders a grilled steak from her with seasoned fries to go with it. He tries to avoid talking with Kendra and it’s made easier as more and more patrons enter the bar throughout the night. A group of young men come in and start playing pool, hooting and hollering loudly in the corner. Some grizzled old-timers surround the bar, speaking in soft voices as they observe the wrestling match on the t.v. which eventually ends causing an uproar of disappointment and cheers. Nate orders another few shots of whiskey, his head in the clouds, and as he finishes his dinner and slumbers off to the bathroom, the bars spins like he’s in a dream. He passes underneath a strange clock mounted on the wall in the shape of a cartoon black cat with wide, taunting eyes watching him. It’s not until he stumbles through the bathroom stalls when he realizes just how drunk he is.

His phone rings while he empties his bladder. Jenny’s face is on the screen; dark hair, beady eyes, and a long nose over a smile he hasn’t witnessed in years. Nate’s thumb hovers over the green “answer” button… before forcefully pressing the red button instead.

He expects her to call again… but she doesn’t.

As Nathan stands up, his stomach lurches. He keels over the toilet and vomits the steak, fries, and all of Kendra’s blue kiss into the bowl. He gasps for air, gripping a painful stitch in his sides as more and more waste tumbles out of his mouth. _Shit… I feel… fuck… this…_ Nate slumps to the ground, clutching the toilet bowl for purchase like a drowning man. _I better just sit here a while until I feel good enough to stand… just… just gonna sit here and let my eyes rest a bit..._

 


	2. Lauren 1

**Lauren**

**October 5th**

**11:00pm**

 

“The cackle of blue fire surrounds your party, encircling the four of you, licking heat off your faces. ‘ _ I have you now _ !’ the Lich King growls, his voice sounding like the rattle of chains.”

“I ready my bow!” announces Billy nervously, gripping his 20 sided dice between his sausage fingers. A bead of sweat mingles with his long, sandy hair and his usual beady eyes are wide with anticipation.

“I ready my hammer as well!” shouts David with a confident smirk, his arms crossed as he leans back in his chair, flexing his muscles but trying to make it look natural.  _ The boys might not be able to tell, but I can. _

“I assume the rest of you ready your weapons as well, yes?” Kyle asks. Andrew nods but Lauren flips through her character sheet with fervor, her heart hammering in her chest.

_ Shit! Shit! Shit! _ “I don’t have my weapon anymore!” She cries, “I lost my warhammer back in the dungeons of Dunefell!”

“Oh shit, that’s right!” Kyle smirks, not hiding his delight. “Well, as the healer you probably won’t need it anyway--ahem… The Lich King’s eyes glow with bright, hot light as he lifts his skeletal arms up in the air and begins to recite an ancient spell. If any of you can speak Undead, you will understand what spell he’s about to cast.”

All four players frantically scan through their sheets. “I can’t!” Andrew whines, taking a puff from his vape pen.

“Neither can I.” David admits with a shrug, his cute smile curling so that his dimples pop, “Who cares? Let’s just kill this guy.”

“I can!” Lauren yells, “I learned how to speak Undead when I was a cleric-in-training! I figured it would come in handy since a lot of my spells can manipulate the undead and stuff.” David winks at her and she grins back.

Kyle straightens his glasses, peering down behind the wide Dungeon Master’s screen at something the rest of them couldn’t see. “Alright, Lauren--I mean, Lauriel, you are the only one who understands that the Lich King is reciting a spell to raise the undead. Before I have all of you roll initiative, I will allow you one preemptive action!”

“Okay, uh, I shout to the rest of my party, ‘Be on guard! He’s going to raise an army of zombies around us!”

“Is that all you do?” asks Kyle with a sharp stare from behind his round glasses.

“No--I realize I don’t have my hammer so I prepare my spell,  _ Turn Undead! _ Once I see the first few skeletons raise up, I’m going to cast it so that instead of attacking us they will flee into the blue flames!”

“ _ Take a point of inspiration _ !” Kyle cries and Lauren pumps her fists. “Don’t get too excited. Turn Undead only affects a certain amount of undead depending on your level… The Lich King finishes his spell… and twenty skeletal soldiers begin crawling out from the cold, hard ground, surrounding you within the circle of flames. Lauriel casts her spell with the reflex only an elf could have!”

Lauren is ready, and rolls her twenty-sided die across the table. Everyone watches with anticipation as it lands on sixteen. She adds her Wisdom modifier to the roll, and it’s a twenty.

“Good enough!” Kyle decrees. “Four of the undead turn heel and flee into the flames! As soon as the blue fire touches their bones they dissolve into a black, eerie mist that hovers in the air. You’ve successfully destroyed four of them, but sixteen remain--not to mention the Lich King himself... I will now have you all roll for initiative!”

Tension follows as each of them roll their die. Not a word is spoken until all four dice come to a halt on their fated numbers. The battle that ensues is long, and one of the hardest they’ve encountered thus far. The soda they drink is empty before even half of the undead are cleared, and the nachos that once filled a platter in the center of their table has become a haphazard pile of pieces. For weeks now they played Dungeons and Dragons every night, but never has the game been this intense. Outside a low, deep rumbling of thunder accompanies a bright flash of lightning that illuminates the dimly lit living room they’re in through its narrow windows. Lauren is on the edge of her seat by the time the last zombie crumbles. All that’s left is the Lich King, who has been hovering over the battlefield in a seemingly impenetrable bubble of magic. None of her spells that specialize against the undead have worked on it, and almost all of the party is barely clinging onto life.

“This might be it for us, gang.” David sighs, his confident smirk a distant memory as he tries to find something in his character sheet that might help defeat their foe. 

“We’ve come so far, we can’t die here!” Billy shrilly pouts, his hands running through his hair as if lice plagued him. “Lauren, are you sure you don’t have a spell that can penetrate his shield?”

“I’ve tried everything!” Lauren yells, “It’s just too strong--or Kyle is cheating!”

“Hey--don’t blame me, the Lich King is one of the strongest creatures in the monster manual.” Kyle laughs maniacally, “Andrew, it’s your turn.”

Andrew is sitting with his hands folded, his skeptical eyes skimming the table at their figurines. Lauren can almost feel his mind racing with desperation. Finally Andrew sighs and says, “I look at the rest of the party and say, ‘it was nice knowing y'all’ before I attempt to leap over the blue flames and flee.”

“WHAT!?” Lauren, David, and Billy all shout in anger.

“ _ What _ !?” Andrew yells back, “This fight is hopeless! I’m not going to die for some stupid princess’s lost gold.”

“It’s more than just the gold! The Lich King is threatening to destroy all of Tyrillia! We have to stop him!” David roars, his face red with rage. “You can’t just--just abandon us in our hour of need!”

Andrew just shrugs. “Not my problem. I’m chaotic neutral, remember? I’ll just hide underground with the rest of the dwarves and wait until the world dies off. Hell, maybe I’ll be king of the new world.”

“I’ll need you to make an acrobatics check to make it over the blue flames.” Kyle sighs, “and I’m giving you disadvantage since, well, you’re a dwarf and these flames are at least twelve feet high.”

“Fair enough.” Andrew rolls the die… and his expression sinks with dismay. “Well, that’s a three…”

“Serves you right, dickhead.” David chuckles.

“Andrew--I mean--Hoggard, you attempt to flee and leap over the flames, but your foot catches a rock and instead you trip and fall straight into them…” Kyles rolls what sounds like three die behind his screen and winces. “Ouch. You take twelve damage and are knocked prone.”

“Pfft. Forget prone. I’m unconscious now...” Andrew grimaces. 

“Lauriel, it’s your turn.” says their Dungeon Master.

Lauren is ready, and says, “I go to revive Hoggard!”

“Babe, no!” David shakes his head when he says this, his wide eyes bearing into her’s. “We need you to focus fire on the Lich!”

“But Hoggard is down! He’s our companion!” Lauren argues, “I can’t just let him burn up in the fire like french toast.”

“I’m still going to flee if you revive me.” Andrew warns her.

“That’s your choice. I’ve made mine.” Lauren says sternly, “I’m going to roll medicine.” She does… and it’s a nine.

“Unfortunately that’s not gonna do it.” Kyle grins, “And it’s the Lich King’s turn. He turns his attention on Lauriel who is busy attempting to revive Hoggard. A bright, green light glows between his claws before he begins to launch a necrotic beam on you from above. It will have advantage on this roll because you are distracted.”

“Wait!” David yells, “I readied my action last turn to defend a party member from an attack--I use that now to jump in the way of the blast…”

“David, no!” screams Lauren in horror.

“But you’ll die! You’re the strongest in the party!” Billy cries, throwing his die up in the air out of sheer panic.

David just smiles at Lauren. “I gotta do it. She’s my boo.”

“Aww, how sweet.” Kyle says, “The necrotic beam hits Aenel as he leaps in front of the blast… I rolled a nat 20…”

“Shit. We’re all sooo dead now.” Billy moans.

Lauren hardly hears them. She just wants to reach across the table and kiss David on the lips, but resists the temptation.

“David--I mean, Aenel, you take…  one-hundred and sixty-five damage…”

“That’s more than double the amount of health I have” David laughs. “Shit, doesn’t that mean…?”

Kyle clears his throat… “All of you witness Aenel scream in pain before burning up in a fiery, green light--dissolving into a liquid mass of putrid waste at Lauriel’s feet…”

“Holy shit!” Andrew gawks, “That’s… you really died, David!”

“I guess so.” David shrugs. Lauren can’t help herself, she stands up and goes to him, flinging her arms around him and planting a huge, wet smooch on his cheek. He beams at her while the others all feign disgust. David just whispers, “Worth it.”

“How romantic. You realize your character is, like, dead dead. No coming back.” Kyle smirks, appearing satisfied for finally being able to kill off one of the party. A rumble of thunder rolls along outside at his words, followed by the distant blare of police sirens. “I think I’ll end the game there for tonight--always best to end on a cliffhanger.”

“Doesn’t matter, we’re all so screwed.” Andrew laughs, getting up and stretching.

Lauren is glad it’s over for now.  _ I have a lot of sleep I need to catch up on, and tomorrow I have to study all day. _ “Goodnight gang. David, you gonna stay up with the boys or…?”

“Nah, I’ll come too.” David says, helping Kyle and Billy clean up the dishes and game pieces. “Just gimme a few, I’ll see yah in there, babe.”

“Goodnight Laur.” Billy waves with a bashful smile.

“Night guys.” Lauren heads down the hall. Andrew and Kyle’s rooms are on the left, Billy’s and the bathroom on the right, and her room she shared with David was at the very end. She inhales the stench of marijuana emanating from Andrew's room like she always does when going down this hallway and winces, despising the smell. Once inside her room she closes the door and begins to undress into her underwear, tossing her shirt and shorts into her hamper before tugging on a pair of pink and yellow pajama bottoms as well as one of David’s black tank-tops. Then she takes her comb from the desk beside her bed and combs her long, hazelnut hair; all the while thinking about the game they just played and how heroic David was for sacrificing himself to save her.  _ It’s just a silly game but still, he’s played that character for so long now it’s gotta be a little sad for him… nobody likes losing a character they’ve invested in for so long. I’d be devastated if something happened to Lauriel. She’s like a part of me… man, listen to you, Lauren. Such a fucking nerd. _

As good as his word, David comes into the room a few minutes later and plops down on the bed with a heavy sigh. “What a night. I can’t believe it.”

Lauren smirks and curls her arms around his broad shoulders from behind him in a warm embrace. She plants soft kisses up his neck, smelling remnants of shampoo in his hair. David takes one of her slender hands in his own and caresses her knuckles with his thumb. She whispers in his ear, “Want me to make it up to you?”

“I won’t say no to that, m’lady.” David grins, undoing the belt from his jeans in a hurry, “I knew throwing myself in front of a necrotic beam would turn you on.”

“Oh you just know me so well.”

He leans his head back and they lock lips. 

The rain outside has intensified into a heavy storm, beating the windows heavily while lightning lights up the black sky. It’s midnight by the time they are finished smashing, and David is snoring heavily at her side with most of the blanket tucked around him. Lauren is on her side, back to him, watching the storm rage on and on through the window. Without her glasses on, it was all just a blur. She envies her boyfriend’s ability to sleep through anything, and as she lies there trying to keep her eyes closed, her mind races. Whenever it storms like this, Lauren’s anxiety always starts to rear its ugly head. She finds herself breathing heavily and her heart beating faster and faster until it becomes hard to breath at all. Her eyes snap open as lightning claps. She reaches for her desk and pulls open the drawer, shuffling around in a state of unease. Her nails trace across the lid of what she’s searching for and quickly withdraws it, stuffing the little plastic utility into her lips and pressing down on the button. The inhaler puffs out a mist that fills her lungs and she takes a huge gulp of fresh air, followed by a second puff… then a third.  _ That’s better…  _

Laurens glances over her shoulder at David to make sure she didn’t wake him up before returning her inhaler to the desk. She lifts her knees up to her belly and wraps her arms around them, nestling her face into the pillow.  _ Just ignore the storm. Think about law. Go over the rules so you don’t fail the test on Wednesday. If I’m ever going to become a lawyer, I gotta manage my sleep schedule better. My parents would be appalled if they knew I was staying up every night playing games… but I’m nineteen now. I’m finally out from under their roof. I have every right to do what I want. Before I moved in here with David and his friends, I’d never even had sex. My life is changing so fast… Just go to sleep, Lauren.  _

And so she does. But the storm outside is wide awake and never relents...


	3. Jacob 1

**Jacob**

**October 5th**

**9:30pm**

 

“ _\--I’m going off the rails on a crazy tray-hayne_!”

Jacob’s fingers drum along the steering wheel in tune with the radio as he turns his truck into his parent’s driveway. The giant hedge that divided their house from the neighbors is just as even and pruned as when Jacob had cut it over a month ago, which was satisfying to see. He knew Mom always loved it when her yard was perfect. Jacob turns off the engine which puts an end to Ozzy’s epic music blasting on the radio and unbuckles his seatbelt, climbing out of his Toyota with a grim expression on his face. He always feels uncomfortable the moments leading up to when he knocked on that front door. Would it be tired and downtrodden Mom who answered it? Would it be Kirsten, dressed like she’d been manufactured at a Hot Topic? Or would it be his deadbeat, alcoholic, son-of-a-bitch Dad?

“Alright kiddo,” Jacob says as he opens the back door of his truck with a noisy, metallic groan, reaches inside, and unbuckles Zoe from her car-seat. The four-year old pouts as he lifts her up with ease. She struggles and fights back with tiny fists beating against him, but her feverish smacks might as well be feathers tickling his broad, muscular shoulders. “Hey-Hey, Zoe! C’mon, cut it out.”

“I don’t wanna go!” Zoe moans, tears swelling up in her eyes as he pulls her into his chest and closes the door. “Take me with you, Jakey!”

“I wish I could, you know.. But your birthday’s over now and it’s waaay past your bedtime. Mom will have a fit.”

“I don't caaare! I wanna stay with Jakeeey!” Zoe cries, kicking fruitlessly but his massive arm is like a steel brace, trapping her to him effortlessly.

Jacob can’t help but grin as he hoists her up over his head with one hand (a move that always terrifies and excites Zoe) and his little sister screams with delight. “ _Hello-copper! Hello-copper! Fly! Fly! Fly!_ ” He flies her all the way up the garden path to the front door before setting her down on her feet. As he lifts his fist up to knock on the door, Jacob pauses a second to listen. Inside he can hear his father shouting, there’s no mistaking that shout… he’s heard it a thousand times. Zoe hears it too, and the joy in her eyes snuffs out.

_I really wish I could take Zoe home with me tonight but I have to be at work soon… Kirsten better be here so Zoe has someone to tuck her in, otherwise I’m going to be late again._ Jacob exhales a deep breath and raps his knuckles on the door… but his dad’s shouting doesn’t stop, and the longer he stands there, he realizes Mom is arguing back with him, but her voice pales in comparison to the deep, booming thunder of Dad’s. _“--Don’t start with me, Mel! I work too damn hard to put up with this fucking shit every day! Just fetch me some damn aspirin, I’ll be fine!”_ It’s as he’s standing here with Zoe, listening to their parents fight, that a light rain begins to fall from above… Jacob knocks again, louder this time, getting impatient.

“They won’t hear you.” says a familiar voice by the hedges making Jacob jump out of his skin. He turns and sees Kirsten leaning up against the garage door with a cigarette between her fingers. The pink tips of her black bangs drape over her left eye, while her right eye glares at him, a sour expression on her face. She’s dressed like she always is, in black leather from neck to toe. Even in the dark, Jacob can make out at least six different belts strapped around her waist.

Jacob doesn’t say anything at first, but he does approach her with his arms crossed. When he reaches her, Kirsten glares up at him defiantly and lifts her smoke up--but before the filter can reach her black lips, Jacob’s hand slaps it from her grasp with the reflexes of a cat. The Marlboro goes flying off into the lawn. “I told you to quit smoking.”

“Free country.” Kirsten argues, deadpan.

“I don’t give a damn. If Dad caught you doing that--”

“Like _I_ give a shit what _he_ thinks.” Kirsten mutters resentfully, “Not that’d he’d even care.”

“Don’t give me that attitude, Kirsten. I won’t let you kill yourself with cancer like grandma did.”

“You tell Mom that too? She smokes three packs a day, y’know. Where’d you think I stole that one from?”

Jacob grimaces uncomfortably. “Mom is capable of making her own decisions. You’re still a fucking kid, and what kind of a brother would I be if I let you make the same mistakes she makes?”

Kirsten pushes herself off the garage door and storms off into the backyard. Jacob watches her go, feeling a strange sense of regret even though he knew he’d done the right thing... He looks down at Zoe who is playfully stamping the half-lit cigarette out with her shoe to stop the grass from catching fire, and he sweeps her up in his arms again. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s go around back and see if we can get you to bed.”

They travel down the side of the house, the hedges rustling under the patter of rain, until they make it to the backyard. Jacob spots Kirsten sliding inside between the glass door and into the kitchen. From here, Jacob witnesses his mom and dad. Dad is at the table eating dinner while Mom has her back to him, hunched over the kitchen counter, her hand cocked up holding a smoking cigarette. She’s shaking her head while Dad is eating a hotdog with one hand, and the other is clutching a red can of beer, a makeshift bandage of toilet-paper tied around his fist leaking spots of red blood onto the table. _Did Dad get in a fight at work again? Great. Last time his hand was bleeding like that, he’d punched his boss in the nose._

Jacob steps through the glass, his footsteps announcing his presence to them. Mom turns and looks at him, her eyes glistening with tears. She looked like she was beautiful once, but age and depression had sunk her battleship a long time ago. Dad took one baleful glance up at Jacob before snorting and returning his attention onto his hotdog. “I’m back.” Jacob says, more to his mom than to his dad, and lets Zoe go. The four year old runs past their dad and follows Kirsten into the dim hall, asking her older sister to read her a story before bed.

“Oh good, I was starting to worry.” Mom sighs, puffing on her Marlboro. “How was your day with her? She didn’t give you too much trouble, did she?”

“No trouble at all, actually. Zoe’s an angel.” Jacob grins, “We went to the park with some of her friends then I took them to go see the new Pokemon movie. I got her an ice cream cake and we had Papa Murphey’s and--”

“You can _afford_ all that?” Dad interrupts with a grunt, still stuffing the hotdog down his gullet.

Jacob eyes him down, deciding not to answer that, and returns attention to his mom. “Anyway, yeah, it was a great day. Wish I could keep her all night but I gotta go to work an hour ago.”

“Hmph! _Work_ , is that what you call it there?” Dad scoffs, “In my day you couldn’t call it work until you came home with calluses on all your fingers and toes.”

“Well it’s a paying job, so…” Jacob mutters, refusing to even look at his dad as he spoke. He knew if he did, Dad would see that as a dare.  “Anyway, I better--”

“How much they pay you to stand around all night long and mop floors?” Dad asks, smacking his lips together as crumbles of bread, ketchup and weiner tumbles down onto his bulging belly. “Nine dollars an hour?”

“It’s eleven, Dad. I’ve told you a hundred times…” Jacob grumbles, still refusing to look at him.

“Hah. Eleven dollars an hour. That ain’t no job, kid. You need to get a _man’s_ job. I mean, fuck, just look at you--you could be a fucking body-builder but instead you’re helping old timers fill up their gas tanks.”

“Oh, stop that, Roy!” Mom scolds him, her voice sounding as disheveled as she looks. “It’s only a temporary job until he gets his band together again, isn’t that right, Jake?”

“Yeah, Mom. That’s the plan.” Jacob sighs, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and anger. “Anyway, I really should get going. Tell Zoe I love her and I’ll see her on Monday when I take her to pre-school.” He turns to leave, determined to escape his father’s scrutiny before he could utter another word. _Wishful thinking._

“I guess I’m just wondering when our son is going to do something with his life. You can’t expect him and his loser friends to make anything of themselves with a band called… hell, what were they called again? The Dipshit Pixies?”

“ _Particles of Paranoia_ , Dad.” Jacob mutters, stopping at the glass door, his fists balling up. _Just leave. Ignore him. Just go out to your truck and--_

“Gimme a break. You should get a job in construction like me--I’d teach you a thing or two about--”

“--about punching your boss in the face?” Jacob interrupts, losing his cool.

His mother gasps between her cigarette. Dad just laughs. “I’d punch that fucker again, if I could.”

“Who’d you hit this time, Dad?” Jacob asks angrily, glancing down at his dad’s bandaged fist.

“Nobody who didn’t deserve it.” Dad growls, “Like I was just explaining to your mom, I was coming home from work when this dirty bum of a shitstick comes at me. Tries to mug me or something. Didn’t say a word, he just put his hands on me--so I socked him in the teeth. Scraped my knuckles good but I sent the fucker on his ass. Nothing to kick up a storm about, the cops don’t care if you beat up the homeless losers around here, hell, they’d probably give me a medal of honor.” He says it all like he’s proud of it, but Jacob feels only contempt and disgust toward him. “Speaking of which, Mel, you gonna give me some aspirin or am I gonna have to get it myself?”

“See you guys later.” Jacob grunts, exiting into the fresh night air before he had to listen to another word.

The rain is falling heavier now. By the time he makes it back to his truck, his long, curly red hair clings to his ears and gets in his eyes. He wipes his bangs out of his face and revs up the engine. _Stupid. I should’ve just left right away._ The radio comes on again, this time blasting Dream Theater instead of Ozzy. _What does he know, anyway? That guy can’t hold a job for more than a few months. I bet he really did beat up a homeless guy, though it probably didn’t go down like he said. Fucking asshole._

He speeds off out of their neighborhood and onto a main road, heading south toward the interstate. Trees and houses and apartments pass him by, all the while Jacob tries to distance his mind from his father’s nagging, judgemental voice--but even when Metallica comes on the air, he can’t hear anything else. _Calling my friends losers like that when he doesn’t even know them. I’ll show him,... Someday, when Particles of Paranoia is a huge success--I’ll throw all my money in his face and show him he was wrong. Then I’ll put him in a retirement home, one far away from Mom. Just a few more years, that’s all it’ll take._ He hits several traffic jams on his way to work, rows of cars lined up for miles, honking their horns in frustration. Jacob takes the back roads to avoid some, but others prove more troublesome. It’s almost eleven by the time he rolls into the Gas and Go’s parking lot. _I was supposed to start at ten. Deb’s gonna give me shit, but fuck it. She’s nowhere near as annoying as Dad._

The Gas station is on the outskirts of Westwood, leading up to the highway going toward Seattle. A dense, black forest surrounds the station and road on all sides. Jacob eyes the highway with a dark look, wondering how there could be so many cars jammed up back in the city when the highway itself is practically clear. Occasionally he sees a pair of headlights driving down either direction, but it’s strangely desolate compared to what he just went through. Jacob shrugs, grabs his backpack, and heads inside to face the music.

 


	4. Riley 1

**Riley**

**October 5th**

**9:50pm**

 

Everyone shopping at the Food Castle at this time of the night are just the elderly and fat people on welfare, dragging their feet. There’s only one cashier working and he goes out for smoke breaks every time it gets slow inside. Riley waits patiently in the darkness across the parking lot, watching the front doors to the store open and close as shoppers go in and out. A light rain falls from a grumbling sky. Riley is soaked by the time she makes her move. The cashier goes out to have his smoke as she sneaks past him, slinking like a shadow, avoiding the street lights until she’s all the way to the front doors. When they slide open, Riley is eclipsed by the bright light inside. Hardly a soul in sight, Riley goes first down the aisle on her left, slinging her backpack around so that it hangs off her chest. She keeps her eyes on the ends of the aisles, making sure nobody comes around the corner whenever she takes something off a shelf and hides it in her pack. Candy bars, chips, salsa, a couple bottles of soda, and a loaf of bread all fit easily inside her backpack, until there’s only room for one last thing--the thing she truly needed more than food.

She arrives at the wine section in the back of the store and slips a bottle of black merlot inside where it nestles securely against the bread. The bottle weighs her pack down, but once she flips it around properly it’s much easier to carry. Riley eyes one of the cameras above as she heads for the exit and gives it the middle finger.  _ Not like anyone in there is watching. _ Riley’s done this a hundred times here at Food Castle and never has she gotten caught. The cashier is finishing his cigarette and doesn’t even notice when Riley walks out of the store behind him. She slinks off into the darkness once more just as he snuffs his smoke out in a forming puddle and heads back inside, none the wiser.

People driving might notice Riley hurrying down the sidewalk, but all they would see is a small, skinny figure dressed in black with shocking purple hair hiding her face, then they’d be gone and she’d be out of sight, out of mind. Nobody would think twice about the backpack full of stolen food, for all they know she’s just some girl walking home from a friend’s house after a long afternoon of homework and studying. Sometimes a police cruiser speeds by and Riley’s heart would skip a beat and she’d be on edge with paranoia--but every time this happens, the results are the same. For years now, Riley has gotten away with thieving from nearly every grocery store in Westwood and it’s because she never hits the same store more than once every two weeks. Tonight was the Food Castle. Tomorrow would be Safeway, then in a few days it’d be the Grocery Outlet. She’d always go to these places at night, because that’s when there was the least amount of employees and customers. If any of these stores had security, Riley never had a problem with them. Hal always warned her to be careful, that everyone’s luck eventually runs out and since she doesn’t have an ID she could get in real trouble if she’s ever caught, so Riley was _ very  _ careful.

Still, it sucked having to go all the way across town sometimes just to avoid going to the same stores too often. The Food Castle is on the north end of Westwood, and Hal’s place is downtown in the south end, so this little venture of her’s usually cost her an entire night’s worth of time.

After about ten minutes, Riley comes to an old, small bridge of stone. Underneath she spots the familiar orange light coming from a barrel of fire where a few shadowy figures sit huddled around it in lawn chairs. When one of them spots Riley traipsing down the grassy hill toward them,  Riley waves and the figure waves back.

“There she is, boys!” an old woman, cries with croaky delight. “Was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

“And leave you guys hanging? I think not.” Riley smiles as she comes upon them. There’s five people in all, elderly and homeless, wearing dirty old clothes to keep them warm from the cold. The fire is the only source of light down here under the bridge, and it warms her face just enough to make her forget about the rain behind her. She takes her backpack and unzips it, revealing the bottle of merlot inside. “Do you got the grass?”

“Aye, we do.” mutters another of the old timers, eyeing the merlot with a sparkle in his eye.

“Let’s see it.”

The old woman grunts as she hunches over and digs through her pockets. She pulls out an eighth of marijuana and dangles it between her stubby fingers. Riley takes the bag and hands her the bottle before inspecting the eighth. “It’s all there.” assures the old lady distractedly, slipping a knife out of her boot and jamming the blade into the cork of the merlot.

“I know, just gotta make sure.” Riley smiles, slipping the weed into the pocket of her jeans. Some might say this was an uneven trade, but these old timers didn’t like to smoke weed, they preferred to drink, and merlot was their absolute heaven. “Pleasure doing business, guys. Don’t drink all that at once.”

“Oh, you know us.” They all laugh and Riley heads back out into the downpour.

Next stop is right in the center of the town, Westwood High. She walks for forty minutes before arriving at the massive gated schoolyard where she finds a black honda civic parked in the gravel lot beside the tennis court. Riley hurries up to the car and raps her knuckle on the window. It rolls down, releasing a giant cloud of smoke, thick with THC. Riley smiles at the pair of young twenty-something black men inside, but they just stare at her with deadpan expressions.  _ I hate these guys, they never say a word to me whenever we deal. _ She pulls out the weed and hands it to them. The driver gives her fifty dollars in return and, without a word of gratitude, rolls the window back up. By the time Riley is at the end of the road, their civic is long gone.  _ I suppose they’re not all bad. Some guys like to try and bite off more than they can chew when they see a girl like me. _ Riley reaches down and feels the weight of her swiss-army knife hiding inside her pocket, a gesture she does every hour or so just to make sure she’s got it. It’s Hal’s knife, and if she ever lost it she worries that she would lose Hal’s trust as well.  _ Luckily I’ve never had to use it. _

With fifty dollars on hand as well as the hundred she made yesterday, Riley heads over to a Shell gas station for her next deal. It’s closing in on 11 p.m. by the time she gets there, only this time the guy she’s expecting to find isn’t there.  _ Great. _ In times like these, where Riley would be the first one to a meet, she’d spend her time listening to music on a small, old Ipod Hal gave her a long time ago. It only holds a handful of songs, and being terrible with technology she never learned how to manage her music, so eventually she got used to listening to the ones on there she couldn’t stand--eventually she even came to appreciate them. Her favorite band is U2 even though she thought they sounded dumb at first, and it’s them she tunes in to as she plants a seat on the curb, plugs her earbuds in, and cranks the volume up to max.

She doesn’t wait long before he shows up, a lanky, disheveled man with a bushy, black beard. He’s as old as Hal and walks with a limp, but he manages to cross the parking lot without trouble. Riley removes her ear buds and stands up, unraveling the bills in her pocket.

“Sorry I’m late.” the old man grunts, his voice barely audible over the sound of rushing cars. “Got held up by the wife.”

Riley shrugs, truly not giving a shit. “It’s fine. You got the snow?”

The man slowly reaches inside the chest pocket of his leather jacket and reveals a bag of white powder. They travel over to the side of the gas station in the shadows so no one can see them make the trade. Once Riley has the cocaine in hand, she gives the man her one-fifty and says, “Hal appreciates this.”

“Tell Hal he’s more than welcome to come back to our poker games.” The man mumbles, “It’d be easier for us to do this in person. He wouldn’t haveta send you out on these errands. It’s dangerous out here, y’know?”

“I’ll tell him, but don’t expect him to show up. Hal doesn’t get out of his house much anymore. Besides, these ‘errands’ are the only way I make a living. See you next week.”

And with that, her job is done. Riley heads for the nearest bus stop, debating whether or not she should take one downtown or just walk.  _ It’d be faster to take the bus and my legs are killing me… but… _ She fumbles through her pockets and finds only a couple quarters.  _ Not enough… _ So she walks past the bus stop and continues southward down a main road. Traffic is backed up for miles all around her. She finds it a little odd since usually these roads are hardly busy at this time of night. People are honking their horns impatiently. Some are even getting out of their cars and yelling at each other. Riley notices one car has several kids in the back, all of them staring out the window at her with tears in their eyes while their mother and father scream at each other. Riley puts her ear buds back in but even U2 can’t drown out the storm of traffic running beside her… so she takes a detour.

_ I’m going to be exhausted by the time I get back to Hal’s. _ Her detour is a long stretch of backroads going behind a series of apartment complexes. The roads here are blessidely barren of any pedestrians or passing cars, and only a series of street lamps light the path ahead for her. All the windows along the buildings are curtained and the lights are out. It’s after midnight now, and most people are probably sleeping. She quickens her pace, heading downhill toward the downtown district. She keeps her head low and her hands in her pockets, and whenever a stray vehicle passes her by she ignores it. Whenever she carries cocaine, she feels hyper aware of her surroundings. If she got pulled aside by a cop for some reason and they found the bag of powder on her, she’d be thrown in jail and there wouldn’t be anyone to bail her out…  _ No one but Hal, and I couldn’t live with myself if he came and did that for me. He’s done so much for me already, and he can barely afford his mortgage. I can’t get caught, I have to hurry and get off these streets. _

She rounds a corner by a closed down video store, only fifteen minutes away from Hal’s now, when she comes to a momentary halt. Up ahead she spies three shadowy figures walking toward her on her side of the street. At first all she can see are their silhouettes; the one of the left is short and round, the one on the right is tall and has a hat on backwards, the one in the middle is the tallest, and wears baggy clothing, a cigarette hanging from his lips. Riley continues to walk, eyeing the other side of the empty road where there is no sidewalk, only a ditch. _Traffic isn’t bad here, I could probably risk walking over there until I pass those guys._ She debates it for a few seconds, all the while the three shadows walk steadily closer and closer. _By now they must see me._ _If I go over there it’ll be pretty obvious I’m trying to avoid them. Screw it, I’ll just keep walking._

But the closer she got to them, the more worried she became. All three of them are boys, younger than her by a few years, maybe even just teenagers in high school. Suddenly the music in her ears dies. She glares down at her Ipod and finds that the battery is dead. Now she can hear them, the middle boy loudest of all. He’s laughing hysterically about something while the other two just guffaw under their breaths. The laugher tosses his cigarette out onto the street and mumbles something to the other two. Riley doesn’t like this, and decides maybe it is better if she just avoids them entirely. So she steps off the sidewalk to cross the street… and the three boys copy her.

“Where you going, baby?” Laugher calls out to her, leading his buddies out into the middle of the road. Riley comes to a complete stop, her fingers tightening into fists inside her pockets. The three boys don’t stop, they walking toward her with purpose in their steps, all three grinning like buffoons. Laugher is only ten feet away, his pimply face illuminated by the street lights, when he says, “I was just telling my buddies here how much I love purple hair on a girl, then you show up. Must be a sign, right?”

The round boy chuckles stupidly, while the boy wearing a hat sneers, his beady eyes undressing her from head to toe. Riley says nothing, frozen in place. _ Just keep cool, these boys are just teens. They look drunk, probably heading home from a party or something. They’re just kids, they don’t mean me any harm. _ But even as she tells herself this, she senses menace coming from Laugher as he finally reaches her and stops, his grin so wide she can see all his pearly whites.

“What’s the matter? We aren’t scaring you, are we?” Laugher asks mockingly.

The boy in the hat says, “Maybe she’s a mute.”

“I think she’s one of them homeless girls.” says the fat one.

“No way, a girl this cute can’t be homeless. That’s too much of a damn tragedy.” Laugher laughs and the other two follow suit.

Heat warms her cheeks and she averts her gaze, trying to walk by them, but Laugher is quick and blocks her off, stepping even closer. “Whoa, whoa,  _ whoa _ , what’s the hurry? I’m just trying to have a friendly conversation. What’s your name, beautiful?”

Riley coldly replies, “Fuck off.”

“Oooh, she sounds scared.” the fat boy says.

“Now, now, is that any way to speak to a new friend?” Laugher asks with a cocked brow, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. “Girl like you should show more class than that.”

_ Oh you want class, do you? _ Riley smirks. “Fuck off,  _ please _ .”

“I like that.  _ I like that _ , boys. Her attitude is getting me hard as  _ fuck _ .” Laugher laughs, inching close enough that she can smell the alcohol on his breath and the cologne on his letterman’s jacket. The other two move to either side of her, boxing her between them all. Riley’s heartbeat begins to drum in her ears as she tries to back away.

“Oh god, she stinks.” the boy with the hat winces, covering his nose. “She’s gotta me homeless, man.”

Laugher leans in and takes a whiff before recoiling as well, “Jesus, you’re right! Baby, are you  _ homeless _ ? I can’t believe this, you’re  _ way _ too cute to be homeless. How about we go take a shower together at my place?”

“Back the fuck off, all of you.” Riley warns them, not hiding the venom in her tone as she carefully slips her fingers deeper into her pocket where Hal’s knife rests.

“Or what?” Laugher asks, “What’re you going to do? Y’know, I don’t usually go for homeless bitches, but your tits are just  _ calling _ to me, begging for it.”

“You’d fuck this bum?” The fat boy asks him with a chortle.

Laugher just casts him a side-eyed sneer and says, “You wouldn’t? Maybe if you’re lucky you can have my sloppy-seconds.”

The fat boy just shakes his head with disgust. Riley hates them, all three of them, and as she takes another step back she tenses up with fury.  _ They’re drunk, they’re young, and they’re stupid fuckboys who think they can take whatever they want. They’re probably used to girls fawning all over them, but not this girl. _

“C’mon, maybe we should leave her alone. This bum will just give you some STDs or some shit.” The boy in the hat mumbles.

“Nah, I don’t think so. Hell, half the bitches at Westwood High have an STD and I still give them the D. I’m immune to that shit.” Laugher opens his mouth and laughs--and mid-laughter is when he makes his move. Suddenly his hands are on her arms, clamping down and pinching her biceps. Riley reacts, trying to lift the knife from her pocket--but Laugher’s grip on her is stronger than she anticipates, clamping her arms to her sides and trapping her hands in her pockets. Laugher leans his face in close to her’s and whispers, “Let’s go somewhere more  _ private,  _ that ally should do. I see a dumpster with your name on it.”

“Let me go!” Riley snarls, lifting her foot up into his groin. It isn’t much of a kick, but it’s enough to get one of his hands off of her.

Laugher grunts, no longer smiling, clutching his crotch with his free hand. “Fucking bitch, you’ll pay for that. Neal, grab her legs.”

He looks at the boy in the hat when he says this, but his friend only shakes his head. “No way, man. Let’s just go. She ain’t worth it.”

Laugher rolls his eyes then looks to his fat friend. “You gonna help?”

“I don’t know, dude…” The fat boy mutters, suddenly looking afraid.

“C’mon, I know you’re still a virgin. Tonight’s your night, my treat--”

Riley wrenches herself free from his hold of her, simultaneously whipping her knife out. The blade springs out from its holster and, without hesitating, Riley swipes it across Laugher’s grinning face. She feels the steel connect with flesh, feels the pressure of his jaw beneath her wrist. Laugher screams as blood sprays Riley’s face. She withdraws the knife and gawks at her work. A long, red gash has appeared from the corner of Laugher’s lip all the way up to his ear. Blood is flowing freely all over his letterman’s jacket. He stumbles backward, screaming and cursing. His friends finally back off, staring at Riley in awe and fright. The boy with the hat turns heel and flees, abandoning them completely while the fat one goes to Laugher and asks, “Are you alright, man? Holy shit, you’re bleeding really bad…”

“GRAB HER, IDIOT!” Laugher screeches, “I’m gonna fucking rape this bitch to death!”

But Riley is already gone, sprinting as fast as she can down the road, her purple hair flying in the breeze. The cold rain is like needles against her face.  _ Just keep running. Just keep running. _ She can still hear Laugher screaming behind her as she turns a corner. She’s never ran so fast before in her life, and she doesn’t stop until she gets to Hal’s driveway.


	5. Nate 2

**Nate**

**October 6th**

**3:58am**

 

A wolf howls from somewhere far away in the black empty void. On and on it echoes for an eternity that lasts until Nathan’s eyes flutter open.

Something cold and hard is pressed against his cheek. He lifts his head and blinks the sleep out of his eyes, finding himself face-to-face with a toilet bowl full of putrid, blue vomit. The sight and overwhelming smell of it makes Nate choke. _I passed out on a toilet… God damn it..._

Groaning and coughing, Nate stands up, making his head spin and throb painfully. He clutches the side of it, fingers tangling with long, black hair slick with sweat, and leans against the graffiti tagged stall to regain his composure. _Jen is going to give me hell for this. She might even divorce my sorry ass._ “Jesus…” he mutters, hating himself. _What am I supposed to tell her, that I passed out in a bar bathroom like some kind of bum? I can’t tell her that, no fucking way. I gotta think of an excuse… but then she’s gonna think I was out all night with a girl. She’s gonna think I cheated on her. Maybe I should just tell her the truth and suffer the embarrassment…_

He flushes the toilet and exits the stall, staggering over to the sink. He can’t avoid looking at himself in the mirror, and what he sees makes his stomach crawl. His cheek is red from lying on the toilet seat, and there’s blue debris from vomit in his beard. Quickly Nate turns the sink on and splashes cool water up onto his face, wiping the disgusting muck off. He runs more water through his long hair, slicking it back like he always does. No matter how much water and soap he uses, Nate still feels dirty by the end. When he turns the sink off he just stands there and stares into his reflection, his mouth a thin, grim line, his eyes wincing from the hangover throbbing over and over against his temples. _I think this is it, this is what rock bottom looks like._

Nate sluggishly turns his phone on and lets out a small gasp. _Jesus Christ. It’s 4 a.m. What the hell is wrong with me?_  Not since his days at Westwood High had Nate gone on a bender like this, and never had he woken up in the bar bathroom with blue puke on his face. Despite his argument with her last night, he’s a little unnerved by the fact that he doesn’t have any missed calls or texts from Jenny. _Maybe she fell asleep… I remember she tried calling right before I threw up. Maybe she just gave up and went to bed. Maybe if I’m lucky I can sneak home and crash on the couch and just pretend like I’d been there all night…_ Nate puts his phone away and goes to the door, but as he reaches for the handle he hesitates… _The bar closes at 2. Kendra said her boyfriend would be picking her up at 3… which means there might not be anyone here anymore. What if I’m locked in? How will I get out?_ Feeling waves of panic, Nate pushes the bathroom door open and decides to check out the place and see if maybe that Chef Hanz is still around. _Please let it be him and not Kendra._

He goes down the small, dark hallway and emerges into the desolate bar. Like he’d guessed, there isn’t anyone in sight. The massive, dimly lit room is ominously silent. All Nate can hear is his own breathing as he walks by that damn cat clock hanging above. He shoots it a glare, hating the way its eyes follow him wherever he went. _Only one way to find out if I’m alone in here…_ Nate clears his throat and says, “Hello?”

The silence that follows his croaky voice is thick with tension. Nathan swallows a lump and slowly makes his way over to the bar. It’s here he notices something unusual… three of the bar stools, including the one he was sitting at before, are knocked over on the floor. _Maybe someone got in a fight while I was out… but why wouldn’t someone pick them up afterwards?_ Nate stops when he sees that the counter is slick with alcohol. There’s a few half-full glasses alongside a bottle that lies in ruins, pieces of glass scattered all over the wood. _Ok, that’s really weird. What happened?_ Nate looks around and notices more and more that not everything is quite right in here. A few balls from the pool table are on the floor by a broken pool stick. A table in the corner where those young girls once sat glaring at him judgmentally is now overturned on its side. Several chairs are fallen over as well. _Did I miss some kind of bar-room brawl? This is just--_

The creak of a door behind him makes Nate jump, and he spins around on his feet, blind with hangover pain, until he sees the source of the noise--Kendra herself. She’s emerging from the back room behind the bar, staring at him with wide eyes full of fear, her mouth agape as if in a silent, endless scream. When he realizes it’s her, he tries to smile, his mind frantically finding an excuse for why he’s still here, but before any words can come out, Kendra rushes to him and hisses, “ _Be quiet_!”

“What? Kendra, I…” words tumble out as she closes in on him and slaps her hand across his mouth. Her palm is sticky and wet, and he tastes something like copper.

“I said be quiet! They’ll hear you!” She whispers frantically, her blonde hair a disheveled mess, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Nate is confused and takes her hand away from his mouth. When he looks down at her palm he takes a step back, gaping at her. “Kendra… are you bleeding?” Her entire hand is completely red as if she’d dipped it in paint. “What’s going on?”

She grabs him by his leather jacket and tugs him along behind the counter, and not once does she take her eyes off the front doors across the bar. Taken aback and hung-over as hell, Nate stumbles along in her wake like a grade-school kid being thrown in detention, only he has no idea what he did wrong. She leads him into the back where he usually sees Chef Hanz cooking before she lets him go and faces him.

“Seriously, Kendra, what’s going on? I just woke up in the…”

“Listen to me.” Kendra says, her face mere inches apart from his. “Those things are outside--at least ten or twenty of them, I don’t know how many but they’re out there and--and--and if they see us or hear us then they might get in here again and I can’t-- _I can’t deal with that again_!” She’s practically on the verge of screaming in his face. Nate doesn’t know what to think, he’s can hardly take in everything she’s saying. He’s transfixed by her hands.

“What happened? I--I just woke up, Kendra, please, just calm down and tell me what’s going on here--why are you bleeding?”

“This isn’t my blood.” Kendra sniffs and she starts to shake uncontrollably, clutching her arms to her chest like a frightened child.

“Whose blood is it then?”

She takes a trembling finger and points down the kitchen. It takes Nate a moment for his eyes to adjust in the dark before he makes out a pair of legs on the ground behind the counter. A pool of dark blood is spreading around them. “Jesus…” he hears himself mutter, automatically trying to walk toward the body but Kendra grabs a hold of him, her nails like claws digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t--don’t go near it!”

“Kendra, who is that?”

“Hanz, It’s Hanz. He-He was attacked by those things and he--he got his neck--it just… _oh god_ …” Kendra collapses against the kitchen counter in a fit of hysterical sobs, freeing Nate from her grasp. Slowly this time he walks toward the legs. As he gets closer the rest of the body comes into view, and sure enough there is Hanz. The old native-american chef is spread-eagled on the floor, covered in more blood than Nate has ever seen before in his life. His eyes are open, staring lifelessly up at the ceiling. His mouth hangs open in silent agony. There’s a chunk of his neck missing as if a dog had taken a huge bite out of him. A bloody towel rests beside his head along with bloody footprints. If Nate had anything left in his belly, he might’ve thrown up again right then and there, but instead he gags, clamping a hand over his mouth and backing away from the sight to gawk at Kendra.

“He was attacked--I tried to stop the bleeding but he--he just… he died…” Kendra shrugs helplessly.

 _Is this real? Is this really happening?_ Nate struggles to respond, blinking rapidly as his hang-over pulses over and over and over against his skull. He finds himself pacing in circles, walking toward Kendra then walking toward Hanz’s body, back to Kendra, back to Hanz, Kendra, Hanz, Kendra, Hanz…

“Okay…” Nate mumbles, “Okay… Kendra… Kendra, I need you to tell me what exactly is going on here.”

“I told you, those things are… they got in here and just started attacking people.”

“What things?”

Kendra glares at him, her eyes wet and narrow. “Don’t you know?”

“Kendra, I just woke up in the fucking bathroom with your stupid kiss all over my face. I’m more hungover than I’ve been in years and there’s a dead fucking indian on the floor.”

“Okay, okay…” Kendra takes a deep breath, closing her eyes to collect herself. Nate waits impatiently, all the while convincing himself this is all just an elaborate prank being pulled--that any second now Hanz would spring to life and yell _“Gotcha!”_ scaring the living shit out of him. When Kendra opens her eyes, she’s staring at the wall, unable to look at him directly. “It was about an hour ago when it started… I was just serving a customer when I hear screams near the front of the bar. Some of those college girls were being… _attacked_ by a group of _people_ coming in. I didn’t know what was going on, I just stood there and _watched_ . Some guys I’d just served tried to fight them off but more and more of them just kept pouring in. It was… _it was crazy_ . Hanz went out with a baseball bat…” She points over to the door where sure enough a metal baseball bat is leaning up against the wall. The end of it is crimson and slick with blood, just like Kendra’s hands. “He and a few others drove the… the _attackers_ outside again. He locked the door behind him and the others just ran off. It was just… it all happened _so fast_ . Hanz came back to me and he was… _bitten_ , right on his neck. He could barely talk, he could barely _breathe_ . I called 9-1-1 but the lines were busy, I couldn’t get a hold of anyone. Hanz started to pass out… I helped him to the floor and he… he just… _died_ … right in _my_ arms…”

She finally looks at him and winces. “I know how this _sounds_ , but I’m telling you the fucking truth.”

“Okay, well… what the _fuck?_ ” Nate grins in spite of himself, shaking his head automatically back and forth. “You’re telling me some people came in here and just started attacking everyone like… like… and Hanz got bit like… like _what?_ ”

“ _What do you want me to say, Nathan?!_ ”

“I want you to start making some sense. You’re making it sound like… like…” He can’t say it. The word just sounds ludicrous even in his mind.

So she says it for him.

“Like Zombies...”

“Yeah, like that.” Nate swallows, placing both hands on his hips. “I mean, c’mon. That’s just--”

“I know how it fucking sounds! _I know!_ ” Kendra sniffs and walks up to him, shoving her hands in his face. “But _look!_ This is Hanz’s blood! Hanz is fucking dead! Those things bit him! They didn’t say a word, they didn’t even make a sound! They just barged in here out of nowhere and started… they bit people, Nathan! I saw it!”

“Okay, well, that’s weird--but there’s gotta be an explanation--we just have to keep trying the cops until someone answers and they get over here with an ambulance.”

“No! You don’t get it--I’ve been trying to call them for the last half-hour!” Kendra looks like she’s about to start crying again. “Nobody is answering! _Nobody!_ This--whatever this is… it’s not just happening here, it can’t be. I’ve never heard of 9-1-1 being too busy to answer before, have you?”

 _Only in the movies._ An uncomfortable anchor hangs it’s hat in the pit of his stomach and everything she’s said clicks at last. Suddenly Nate remembers that man from before; the man in the expensive suit with the green tie and gelled hair, with eyes like a raccoon and a bleeding hand. He demanded a bottle but when Kendra threatened to call the hospital, he said: _It won’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. None of you get it… but you will._

 _He knew. He must have known something like this was going to happen. He was bleeding, he must’ve encountered one of… those things._ Nate can’t believe it. _This has to be a dream._ Any minute now he’d wake up in his bed and find his wife snoring beside him. More than anything he wants to see her again, to hold her and forget about all this; to forget about his stupid fight with her over his editor, to tell her how much he loves her and how sorry he is for yelling at her. _I don’t have any missed calls or texts… if what Kendra says is true, then Jenny might… she might be in real danger here._

Kendra is still sobbing, completely beside herself as she goes to the door and peeks back inside the bar. Judging from her reaction, all is still as it was when they left it… but the fear on her face is plain to see. _She’s not lying… this isn’t a dream, this is really happening. Hanz is dead and my wife could be dead. God damn it! No, just think--just calm the fuck down and think!_

“I have to get out of here.” Nate mutters.

“What? No, you--you can’t leave, those things are still out there--they’ll kill you!”

Her words strike jolts of fear and anger through him but he shakes it off, thinking only of Jenny. “Listen, Kendra--my wife, Jenny, she’s… I just have to go home. If this thing, if it’s not just happening here then Jenny could be in trouble.”

“If you go out there those things will see you and you won’t be able to go home at all--you’ll die just like everyone else! I saw it, I saw what those things can do!”

“How do you know they’re still out there? You said you’ve been trying to call the cops for half and hour, maybe they’re gone now.”

Kendra glares at him, unable to argue this point. Nate doesn’t care either way, he shoves past her and moves for the door, stopping only to take the metal baseball bat leaning beside it. It’s cold and heavy in his grasp, but he when he lifts it up a sense of empowerment circulates through him. _When was the last time I even held one of these things?_ He reaches for the doorknob when Kendra grabs his arm.

“The doors out there are locked.” She says.

“Well… you have the keys, right?”

“Yes, but…”

“Kendra, I don’t have time for this. I have to go. Either you stay here and wait for your boyfriend to show up or you can come with me. I’m not staying here.”

 _She was so beautiful and charming a few hours ago. Now she looks like a lost kid. Fear is ugly._ Kendra takes the keys out from the pocket of her apron and glares down at them with indecision. “Alright… I’ll unlock the doors for you but if _they_ are still out there we go right back inside and lock them again, okay?”

“Alright, alright.” Nate sighs, “There isn’t a back door to this place by any chance, is there? Fire exit or anything like that?” She shakes her head and Nate shrugs. _Figures._ “Well we don’t have any choice. We can’t just stay here all night. If things go bad, I’ll… I’ll protect you with this.” He gestures to the bat in his hand, trying to hold it like he knows what he’s doing--but Kendra is too afraid to be reassured and just nods solemnly.

Nate leads Kendra back out into the bar, every step measured, every breath a risk. The silence is even more unbearable than it was when he woke up and came out here earlier. They make it to the glass front doors and Nate peers through to the outside world, scanning the parking lot for any signs of the ‘things’ Kendra described. The lot is almost empty, only a few stray cars reside between the white lines in the pavement. He spies his own car about fifty feet away, but nothing else. No sign of movement, no sign of life at all. Everything is dark, and the rain storm from earlier has cast the lot in an eerie, glimmering sheen.

“I don’t see anything.” Nate whispers, eyeing Kendra nervously.

“M-Maybe they wandered off?” Kendra guesses, clutching the keys with unsteady hands. She hesitates before plugging them into the lock…  “Are you sure we should do this?”

“It’s the only thing we can do. I told you, I can’t stay here all morning long waiting... “ A part of Nathan is beginning to think she might have made it all up after-all, that there are no monsters out there in the dark and that Kendra is just experiencing a nervous breakdown. _But then how do I explain the dead body in the back?_

“Maybe I… I can stay here and wait for Tony to show up.” Kendra mumbles.

“Tony?”

“My boyfriend…”

“Wasn’t he supposed to show up a hour ago?”

“Yes.” Kendra gulps, “But he never did, he might just be running really late for some reason but he always comes and gets me… If he does show up and I’m not here--”

“Your phone still works, doesn’t it?” Nate asks impatiently.

“Yes, but he hasn’t answered my calls or texts.”

That just makes Nate worry even more for Jenny’s safety. “Look, see that?” He points to his camry, “That’s my car. If you come with me I’ll drive to go get Jenny and then we can go and check on your boyfriend, alright?”

They look each-other in the eyes and she finally nods, twisting the keys in the door with a click. Nate pushes them open as quietly as possible, allowing fresh, icy air to blast him in the face.

Now that he’s out here he can hear things he couldn’t before. Distant sirens wailing all around them... screeching cars speeding... strange, rumbling booms like firework… and the occasional piercing scream… “It sounds like the god damn end of the world.” He mutters, mostly to himself. He takes a few steps out onto the curb and looks around the vicinity, but still sees nobody around. No traffic on the street, no pedestrians strolling by, and no monsters. He takes a second to let his eyes adjust before glancing back at Kendra.

She’s still standing there under the doorway, clutching onto the glass like a life-raft, eyes searching frantically back and forth. “Kendra, you coming?” He asks her.

“Y-Yeah, just…” She never finishes her sentence, instead her jaw drops and her eyes go wide, terror-stricken. She points at something behind him, and Nate turns, following her finger’s direction out into the darkness.

At first all he sees is the pitch-black parking lot again… only something out there is moving. He squints and sees someone moving unnaturally, dragging his feet through the puddles of rainwater, his arms hanging limply down at his sides. He’s dressed in all black, except for that green tie dangling across his chest. The stranger is making his way toward them, and when he crosses underneath the beam of a street light, Nate feels his insides turn to jelly. _It’s him, the man from before._ Only it isn’t him anymore. His face is pale as paper, his eyes more sunken and black than before, and his chin is red--as red as Kendra’s hands.

The stranger lifts his arms and reaches out, groping the air like a blind man. He moves slowly, and the only sound he makes is the dragging of his feet. Not a grunt, not a moan, not so much a whimper. Every step is clunky, every movement disjointed. Terrified, Nate backs up, feeling like his own head is full of air as the hangover throbs heavier and heavier. _He’s acting like a zombie--this can’t be real, this has to be a trick. I must be on one of those prank shows where they scare the shit out of you. There’s no fucking way this is real._

“H-Hey, buddy. You alright?” Nate asks him, trying to sound braver than he is.

The stranger doesn’t respond, not like Nate really expected him to, he just keeps staggering up to him, picking up speed the closer he gets.

“ _Nate!_ ” Kendra calls but Nate hardly hears her.

“Look, man--we don’t want any trouble here.” Nate says, his voice quivering as he takes another step back. “Just-Just back off, alright? Hey--do you hear me? _Back the fuck off man!_ ”

The stranger’s jaw hangs open and Nate can see all his teeth, blood dripping down from his lips. His eyes, white as the moon, are dead-set on Nate. His expression is vacant, without a trace of emotion. Nate takes another step back as the stranger takes two strides forward, ten feet away from him now.

 _Fuck this!_ Nate turns around, deciding Kendra had the right idea all along--

Kendra is back inside, the doors shut, and when Nate looks at her he hears the click of the keys in the lock... Unable to believe it, he runs to her and slams into the glass. “Kendra, let me in!” He shouts, his voice cracking.

The look she gives him is one he’ll never forget; a mixture of regret and fear all wrapped in a tight package of guilt. “Kendra? Kendra, open the fucking doors!” But even as he demands it, Kendra backs away, her hands over her mouth, a river of tears glistening down her cheeks. “Kendra! I’m not fucking joking! _OPEN THE DOOR!_ ” She turns heel and runs… she runs all the way back to the bar… “ _KENDRA!_ ”

In the reflection of the glass, Nate sees the stranger, his outstretched fingers closing in on him--

Nate spins around and in a moment of sheer instinct, swings the baseball bat with one hand. The bloody, metal end clubs the stranger in the head with a deafening crunch, and the man goes reeling backwards, falling like a sack of bricks onto the pavement. Nate can hardly believe what he’s done, having never hit someone before in his life. He watches in horror as the stranger grips the ground and slowly begins to climb back up on his feet, the side of his head caved in.

His feet move as if by a will of their own, and Nathan runs as fast as he can, leaping off the curb into a giant puddle that splashing water up to his knees. He doesn’t stop running until he collides with the side of his camry, fumbling with his keys, not daring to look back. When he finally wrenches the door open, Nate throws the bat and himself inside, slamming the door shut behind him. _Fuck, fuck, fuck!_ He struggles to slide his keys into the ignition, his hand shaking so bad that it takes him nearly ten agonizing seconds before they finally find purchase. The camry bursts with life, the engine roaring and the tires squealing as he pulls the lever into reverse and pounds his foot on the gas--

The car doesn’t move, it just roars in place like a wounded animal--and with sinking realization he remembers how he got here, how he’d driven straight over the stone hedge and totaled his car. _Oh fucking fuck fuck fuck--_ He pulls his keys out, spinning around in his seat to look back at the bar--but the stranger isn’t there anymore.

He wheels around, gripping the leather cushion of his chair, searching everywhere but the darkness presses down on the windows of his car like a blanket. Finally he sees him--the stranger is already staggering up to the back of his car, reaching out for him, oblivious to the vehicle, his white eyes looking only at Nate.

Nate gathers his courage, takes the bat, and opens the door.

He doesn’t waste a second trying to reason with him like before, instead he just takes off, abandoning his car, favoring his life. He runs likes the devil is after him, leaving the stranger and everything else behind him, running out onto the black, glistening street. He doesn’t stop running, he can’t stop. His feet and legs have taken control. He sprints into the darkness, and doesn’t look back.

 


End file.
